


The Lady and The Officer

by Capucine



Series: Locke Holmes: The Lady in Pink [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit younger too, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Female Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a local crime fighter. When a new heroine appears on the scene, he thinks he's got her figured out. Turns out, she's probably smarter than he gave her credit for. Like, by a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady and The Officer

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt, 'Main character is reimagined as another gender in a superhero universe'. So, yeah, hope you like it!

Locke Holmes.

There were only three things to know about her:

1\. Asshole. Major, major asshole. More than once left John Watson, aka The Officer, to deal with the consequences of her actions.

2\. She went by The Lady in Pink. It was actually ingenious, because in civvies, there was almost nothing feminine about her. Tight pink jumpsuit with a hood that covered the upper half of her face (with eyeholes) was about the opposite of the loose sweaters, huge scarves, and boot-cut jeans that she wore, and she aroused no suspicion. The glasses, which she didn't need, probably helped that illusion.

3\. She was a genius. She took up superheroing to destroy her boredom. She didn't even have superpowers except her genius brain.

And now, John Watson, The Officer, crouched outside her window. He doubted she knew he was there, as she shuffled about inside the apartment.

She seemed to have a chemistry set of some sort going, and her hair was in a crazily-messy bun. She itched her head, and drank, in seemingly one gulp, a cup of coffee.

It was hard to tell from her outfit, but she was shapely. And there was a sort of class to her clothes; they weren't messy, just figure-obscuring. No one would guess she had the muscles of a gymnast and the strength of a martial artist.

John took a sigh, and concentrated his powers. He had weak mind powers: a smattering of telekinesis, a pinch of mind control, and a bit, just a bit, of telepathy. He focused now, trying to slide into her mind unseen and unfelt.

_Foggoodcoverbutfrosttoocoldlinewiththermalcoffeecoffeecoffeethat'sgoodtonightmaybejointbreakingeffectivemustrememberWHOTHEHELL--?!_

Her eyes flashed over to him, blue and piercing. She saw him through the window, and he could feel her mind clamp shut.

He was wearing an army fatigue mask, but he threw himself onto his feet and tried to run. She would figure out his identity, and god knew what the woman would do with such power over him.

But she was faster than him. His old injury protested the rough treatment and slowed him down; she tackled him like some rugby player. “Good evening, John Watson.”

His training kicked in. An elbow slammed back into her face. She hadn't calculated that, hadn't planned on the speed with his strange limp-run.

She pinned his arms, sitting on his back. She said, in a rather deadpan way, “You broke my nose.”

“Get off!” John said, struggling, but she had him solidly.

“I can only think of one reason a man like you would be looking in my window late at night,” she said, though she amended, “No, more accurately, there are many reasons, but you're terribly predictable, John Watson.”

“Stop that! I'm not peeping, if that's what you mean!” John snapped back, trying to keep it down.

“Of course you aren't. You're curious,” she said, and he could imagine how the eyes looked like glass, turning to examine him.

“I know you're The Lady in Pink!” he burst out.

“Obviously,” Locke said, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes. “I've known about you for months now.”

“But wait...” John felt a bit of a chill go through him. “You've only been active for about a month!”

Locke tsked, saying, “You're careless. If you did more harm than good, the police would be after you, and they would find you easily. As for me, it was easy to track you down. One, your limp, which is clearly psychosomatic because often you run as though it doesn't exist. You once had an injury, as a soldier overseas, in the Middle East-- Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” John sighed.

“Yes. Close. Not close enough.” Locke seemed displeased with herself. “Anyway, your injury has been healed, but mentally you've never gotten over it. You see a therapist on Thursdays about it, but you don't trust her.”

“Did you follow me to my counseling appointment?” John asked, gaping a little.

“No. You go to counseling to make your parents and sibling feel better, but it doesn't seem to help you. You're depressed, and acting as a super hero gives you that rush, that reason to live that normal life just doesn't hold,” Locke continued, “After taking photographs of your body, calculating the 2 mile radius of the city you consider your own territory to defend, and digging into army records, you weren't hard to pin down.”

Well, now John felt stupid. He groaned, saying, “Well, I just followed you back to your apartment. Who's easy to pin down now?”

“Who says I didn't want to be followed?”

This was a revelation. John twisted to look at her, and he could see the blood smear on her face. “What, you wanted to meet me?”

Locke got off of him. “You need a place to stay. I need a flatmate. We know each others' secrets. Why not move in?”

“You're already talking about moving-- no, wait. Why, out of all the superheroes in the city, would you choose me? Why would you take the time to figure my identity out?” 

“It didn't take much time,” Locke assured him, which did not help much. She got off of him, and offered him a hand up. “We've teamed up before. I thought, an official partnership would help me... and you.”

John sighed. “I want to know you first. I want to get to talk to you about something other than petty criminals we're fighting.”

“Fine. Let's go inside. I'll set my nose, and you can have tea.”

“You sure you don't want to go to the emergency room?” John asked, eyeing her nose with a big of regret.

“No, I'm fine.” She marched up to the doorway, and let him in.

It was a long night, and Locke was not the most straightforward person, but by the end of the night, they had reached a conclusion: a sort of partnership would do both good.

John moved in the next day.


End file.
